can only be said
to exist
in relation
(by comparison,
that is) to one another.
Therefore
we must know,
deep down,
what bliss is—
since
we cannot possibly be alone
with this.
*
Clipped phases
seem to wander the brain
like children
in a dark forest.
Even conjunctions—
those erstwhile
breadcrumbs—
will not successfully join
or contrast them.
All paths to understanding
overgrow
and are erased.
Only periodically
now do they leave their cave
and wander in circles,
lost.
*
Every time I feel
a disturbance,
I might split
and wind up in two places,
retaining the former
memory of both.
Strangers in the hereafter?
Perhaps—but
accomplices,
more so.
